Without Deeds
by AgentNerd
Summary: Peter survives a vicious kidnapping after having a huge argument with Tony. Now, more than ever, Tony knows he has to be there for him. They have a lot to work out, but Tony isn't walking away so easily this time. He vowed to never abandon the kid again, and he's going to keep that vow even if it kills him (or at the very least, makes him go grey).
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This fic is a sequel to "Five Times Peter Said Sorry to Tony Stark", and it picks up right where that one left off. You should read that first if you haven't already.**

 _"Sacrifice is at the heart of repentance. Without deeds, your apology is worthless." -Bryan Davis_

 _…_

Peter might have blacked out for most of the flight home. He had no memory of it except for vague impressions of the wind cooling his skin and Tony murmuring soft words. The next thing he knew, he was inside, being laid down on a cot inside a bright room. Everything was dim and fuzzy, and he had to focus very hard to get any of his senses to work.

"I don't know the extent of his injuries, but it's bad," Peter heard Tony say to someone Peter couldn't see. "He said something about drugs? About being drugged, maybe, but I didn't stick around to try to find out what it was."

"We'll have to risk it and sedate him anyway. He's in too much pain, and we don't want to risk him trying to fight us while we operate."

Tony made a grunt of agreement, and Peter only realized he was limply holding the billionare's hand when the man tried to pull away. "No!" Peter protested, tightening his grip. Tony pulled his hand out anyway, resting it for a moment on top of Peter's head.

"I'm right here. The doctors need space to work, but I'm _not_ leaving, okay?"

Peter wanted to say something else, but he suddenly wasn't sure what as he felt a needle sink into his arm and he got the overwhelming urge to fall asleep, his eyelids drooping instantly.

Tony's firm voice saying, " _I'm not leaving you,"_ was the last thing Peter heard before being consumed by darkness.

…

It was nice. The darkness. It was a place without pain, or discomfort, or nightmares. He wasn't aware of time, couldn't really grasp how long he had been there or would continue to be there, but he appreciated it all the same.

He floated in that nothingness for a while, but all too soon, it came to an end, and just as he had slipped into the darkness, he was now slipping into the light. Not like, _the light_ kind of light, "the light at the end of the tunnel" kind that led to pearly white gates and people with wings. Actual, physical light, just beyond his eyelids. It wasn't as bright as Peter expected it to be.

His eyes felt uncomfortably stiff and dry, and he had to blink a few times before he could get them to focus. He was in a room that looked very much like a hospital room, except for the luxury and expense in the design and devices around him that screamed Stark money Curtains were drawn over the one, large window to his left, and there was no clock nearby to tell him the time. The lights in the room were dimmed, casting a soft yellow glow over everything, including Tony Stark himself, head resting on his arms at the foot of Peter's bed while the rest of his body was stretched uncomfortably on a chair.

He wasn't snoring (Peter could never imagine such an important man as Tony Stark doing such a thing), but his back rose and fell softly as he breathed, deep in sleep. Peter had never seen him so un-composed. He had dark circles under his eyes, and a hint of stubble marred his usually impeccably-shaped facial hair. His hair was unkempt, like he'd run his hand through it multiple times, and it almost looked _oily_. His suit jacket had been at some point been replaced with a soft grey hoodie. The normalness of it all almost seemed unnatural.

It looked like he really needed the sleep, uncomfortable though it was. Peter didn't want to wake him, but he was starting to feel more and more pain, and though it wasn't nearly as bad as he had felt before, it was enough to make his heart rate pick up. He couldn't stop the acceleration of the monitor's beeping behind him, and the sound seemed to rouse Tony. He rose slowly at first, seeming confused, but as soon as he noticed Peter was awake every hint of exhaustion was wiped from his eyes.

"Peter!" he said, and he had to clear the hoarseness out of his voice, "You're awake. What's wrong, what do you need? Water?"

"Hurts," Peter responded, voice sounding worse than Tony's had. Something changed in Tony's expression. Something in his eyes looked…sad. Or defeated, maybe. Peter couldn't really put a word to it, but it was more vulnerable than he had ever seen his hero.

"The doctor hoped…" he trailed off, almost saying the words to himself, but then he snapped back into focus. "I can give you a little more painkiller, but more than that will start to send you into overdose." He stood up stiffly and moved to Peter's side, pressing a button on his IV that brought a wave of relief to his body. The pain was still there, but it was now more of a minor annoyance than anything.

Tony pulled his chair closer to Peter's bedside and sat back down, voice cautious as he asked, "Do you remember what happened?"

Peter only had to think for a moment before it all came back. He'd been kidnapped. By a serial killer. Knives, and burns, and blood, and so much _pain_. He'd been drugged, he'd been helpless, and then… _oh my god, I_ killed _a man_ …

"It's okay!" Tony said frantically, hand coming to rest on Peter's, trying to calm him as his heart rate rocketed, "You're safe, Peter, you're okay, just calm down…breathe nice and slow, good boy…"

"Where's Aunt May?" Peter asked once he found the breath, avoiding Tony's previous question. He would have expected her to be the first person at his bedside, worried sick about him. Unless something had happened to her…

"She's here. At the compound," Tony reassured, "She'd been by your side all day, I only just managed to convince her to get some sleep a couple hours ago. It's almost three a.m." he glanced at his watch. "Do you want me to get her? I can have FRIDAY wake—"

"No!" Peter answered quickly. If she looked anything as bad as Tony did (and if he knew his Aunt, she probably looked at _least_ as bad, if not worse), she'd need the rest. "Let her sleep."

Tony nodded, dropping the subject. His hand was still on Peter's almost unconsciously now, but Peter didn't want to bring attention to it in fear he would stop. It wasn't a gesture he'd usually expect from Tony, but it was comforting.

"How long have I been out?"

"Three days. Your body still hasn't completely healed."

Peter ignored the obvious last statement for a moment in favor of being shocked by the first one. He'd missed three days? And that was on top of the extra day and a half he'd been missing. So what would that make it…Tuesday?

"I have school," Peter blurted out.

Tony looked confused. "You almost _died_ , and you're worried about school?"

"I'm in five AP classes, and a huge presentation in Spanish. Oh my god, the _homework…_ " Tony hadn't been to high school in like, decades, or something, there's no _way_ he'd understand…

"Your Aunt told the school that a relative in California died. You're currently attending the funeral across the country," Tony explained. "When that excuse runs dry, we'll tell them you got into a car crash on the way home. Have to stay in the hospital for an indefinite amount of time."

"How long is indefinite?" Peter asked.

"Don't worry about that. It'll be as long as you need."

Part of Peter felt relieved about that answer, but another part of him flared with anxiety over the thought of being away from school for so long. Going back there was just about the last thing he wanted right now, but he knew the work would just pile up more and more the longer he was away. The confliction must have shown on his face, because Tony said, "If it makes you feel better, we can have all of your schoolwork sent here. You won't fall behind."

Peter let out a breath and nodded. Just then, the door opened, and a doctor with dark, curly hair and kind-looking eyes stepped in. She gave a small smile, polite smile to Tony before looking at Peter.

"Hi Peter. I'm Dr. Young. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Peter responded automatically, even as he heard his Aunt cursing him in his head for being so vague.

"He was in pain when he woke up. I turned up his meds to the maximum amount allowed," Tony informed her when it was clear Peter wasn't going to. He stood up, pulling his hand away from Peter's bedside and stretching his shoulders, "I think I'm going to grab some coffee. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

Peter had a feeling it was just as much of an excuse to give him privacy as it was to actually get coffee, but Tony still held Peter's gaze as he said it, as if asking for permission. Peter nodded.

"Okay."

He watched Tony go, mind flashing back to how angry the man had been the last time Peter had seen him walk out the door. He pushed those thoughts away. That was so long ago now. Things had changed: for better or for worse, Peter wasn't sure. He had a million things he wanted to say to Tony, a million questions he wanted to ask, but he knew it would have to come later.

No matter where things stood, for now, Peter was safe. He clung to the solace of that thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Oops, forgot to upload this chapter when I first wrote it. Sorry about that. If any of you have an ao3 account, I post my stories there too and usually post there first, so I encourage you to check it out. Enjoy two chapters in the same day.**

"So Peter," Dr. Young started as she walked around to his bed, "Mr. Stark says you were in pain when you woke up? How would you rate that on a scale of one to ten?"

"Uh, six?"

She inspected his IV, marking something down on a tablet, "And how would you rate it now?"

"Probably like a one."

"That's good," she commented lightly. "Right now you're receiving the maximum dosage of pain medication allowed. Mr. Stark told us about your healing ability, but we weren't sure exactly how you would metabolize the drugs. You're getting a much higher dosage than we'd give to a normal patient, but your body seems to process it faster. Once you heal a bit more, we'll try slowly weaning you off it."

"Okay." He shifted as she pulled back his blanket and opened the front of his hospital gown, exposing his chest and abdomen. Almost his entire front was covered in bandages, and what little visible skin there was didn't look pretty.

"How bad…?" he didn't quite know how to phrase the question, but the doctor understood.

"You received a lot of abdominal trauma and had some severe internal bleeding. We had to go in and fix it up," she answered, pointing at a particularly prominent bandage to the side of his stomach. "Multiple lacerations, some of which we had to stitch up, and quite a few burns, including the large one on your shoulder. Two cracked ribs and some bruising—I want you to make sure you take some deep breaths every hour, okay? It'll help prevent pneumonia."

Peter nodded, listening closely.

"Besides that, you also have a burn from some kind of electrical instrument on your thigh, more lacerations on your wrists and ankles, a broken index finger on your left hand and broken ring and pinky fingers on your right, and a broken nose that seems to be healing nicely."

He flexed his fingers weakly, inspecting the casts on them with mild interest. They were sleek plastic contraptions that looked 3D printed and weighed next to nothing. "Did you figure out what drug he gave me?"

"It appears to be something he created himself. We weren't able to find a match for it, but we're positive it's completely flushed from your system by now."

"Oh," Peter said, slightly disappointed, "I thought the drugs were why my healing ability wasn't working." Without that impeding his system, he thought he should have been much better by now.

Finished checking his bandages, Dr. Young closed his gown and drew the covers back up over him. "They most certainly didn't help, and they probably did slow down your body's abilities at the time. Is this the worst you've ever been hurt?"

Peter nodded.

"It's a lot more work than your body normally has to deal with. You were unconscious for three days while the worst of it was sorted out. But believe it or not, your healing ability is making a difference right now. Any other person who went through what you did would be in much worse shape, or maybe even dead."

Those words probably should have been alarming to Peter, or at least have elicited some reaction from him, but Dr. Young delivered them in such a calm and professional way, it was like they were discussing the weather. It was why he hadn't asked Tony about the extent of his injuries when he'd first woken up, even though the man probably knew every detail. He wouldn't have been able to keep up the same front, would have been angry or sad or guilty or _something_ , and Peter couldn't handle that right now. Not about this.

"That all being said, we're guessing you'll be mostly healed up in a couple of weeks, maybe three at most," Dr. Young continued, "but it'll be a play by ear sort of thing. Right now, just worry about resting and getting better. Do you think you'd be up to some solid food?"

As soon as she said the words, Peter suddenly realized how hungry he felt. They must have been feeding him through IV or something, but still, when he thought about it, he hadn't actually eaten in _days_. He nodded, "Yeah, please."

She smiled, "Alright, I'll have something sent up then. Do you have any other questions?"

"Not right now."

"Okay then. I'll come check in on you again tomorrow, okay?"

Peter nodded as she moved to the door, and as if on cue, Tony arrived. They spoke softly by the door for a moment, then Tony gave her a tired nod and she left. As the door clicked shut, he reassumed his position in the chair by Peter's bedside. Not only did he have a coffee in hand, he also appeared to have showered and shaved, though he was still wearing the same hoodie from earlier.

"The doc says you're doing well," Tony commented. Peter shrugged, not quite sure how to respond.

Tony kept talking, trying to avoid an awkward silence. "Once you get off all these tubes and wires, we'll move you to your room. You'll be more comfortable there."

As far as hospitals, went, this was pretty comfortable already—in fact, the mattress he was on right now was _much_ more comfortable than the one on his bunk bed at home, he couldn't imagine…wait, what did he say?

"I have a room?"

Tony leaned forward, balancing his coffee on his knee, "Of course you have a room. I already told you you did."

"But that was when you asked me to join the Avengers. When I said no, I thought…"

"We have a lot of rooms here," Tony interrupted as Peter trailed off, "Didn't make sense to turn it into something else, and besides, there was always a chance you'd need it someday…"

"Like now?"

"Yeah," Tony looked grim. "I never thought it would be under these circumstances, but yeah."

The thought that Tony had bothered to keep a room at the New Avengers Facility for Peter, even after everything that happened, was…nice. He wasn't quite sure what it meant, or if it meant anything at all, but it gave Peter a warm feeling in his chest. He hadn't had any good feelings for a while now, so he clung to it.

Just then, the door opened, and a man in dark blue scrubs came in carrying a covered tray. He smiled at Peter and Tony.

"Hi, I'm Adam. I'll be your primary nurse for these next couple of weeks. Dr. Young said you were hungry?"

Peter's stomach growled audibly as if on cue, and Adam laughed.

"Well here you go then," he set the tray down on a table that rolled over to Peter's bed, adjusting everything so it would be in easy reach. He pulled the cover off to reveal a bowl of oatmeal, scrambled eggs, and fruit. There was also a chocolate drink that looked suspiciously like those nutritional shakes marketed for kids that Peter saw commercials for sometimes.

"Don't worry if you can't finish everything," Adam said, but Peter was already stuffing his face with strawberries. Adam smiled again.

"Well, if you don't need anything else, I'll be back to check on you in a few hours."

Peter shook his head, mouth too full to say anything.

The nurse left the room as Peter practically buried his head into the oatmeal.

"Slow down, it's not gonna disappear," Tony joked.

"Thsss is th' best oatmull 've ever 'ad," Peter said around a mouthful of food.

"After trying your aunt's cooking, I'm not surprised," Tony responded, snagging a blueberry from his plate and popping it into his mouth.

While Peter ate, Tony scrolled through his phone, occasionally stealing a piece of fruit here and there from Peter's breakfast and reminding him to breathe between bites. It was normal in a way that Peter hadn't felt in a long time, almost domestic, though he would never dare attach that word to Tony Stark. He still didn't bring up any of the thoughts on his mind. He didn't want to ruin whatever semblance of peace they'd managed to achieve right now, and he wasn't even sure he had the energy in him to try. When he finished his food, Tony helped him wheel the table away from his bed.

Suddenly, Peter yawned.

"You should get some sleep, kid."

"I was just asleep for three days," Peter protested, even as he could feel the exhaustion seeping into his bones.

"No, you were unconscious for three days. There's a difference."

"But…you just woke up. And got coffee." And he'd only done it because Peter was awake. Tony should be sleeping right now too, but now he'd be up for hours while Peter slept. It didn't seem fair.

"It's okay, I've got work to do," he pulled a Starkpad from Peter's bedside table and pulled up an email, hitting the reply button and displaying the awaiting message to Peter, "See? I'll be fine. Just get some sleep."

And before Peter could help himself, his eyes were slipping closed, and he was asleep within minutes.


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm probably the only teenager ever who has wanted to_ stop _sleeping_ , Peter thought blearily as he woke up once again in his hospital bed at the New Avengers Facility. He spent more time sleeping than he did awake, and the helplessness of it bothered him to no end. It was the biggest reminder that his life was _not_ back to normal, and it wouldn't be for a very long time.

At least he didn't feel tired anymore…well, for now. Looking around, the first thing Peter noticed was that the curtains were open, letting bright daylight spill into the room. The second thing he noticed was May.

She had taken over Tony's spot, glasses perched on her nose as she read a giant book in her lap with intense concentration. She didn't look as bad as Peter had expected her to after talking to Tony last night (or was it this morning?), but then again, May always had been good at hiding anything that could possibly make Peter worry.

"Aunt May?" he said, hesitant to interrupt her focus. Her eyes snapped up to meet his immediately though, and in an instant she had flipped the book closed and placed it on the floor before Peter could get a look at the cover.

"Peter!" she exclaimed, and suddenly her arms were wrapped around him, somehow lifting him off the mattress without disturbing any of his injuries as she hugged. It was so comforting, so familiar, and it really hadn't been that long but Peter realized how much he had _missed_ it, missed her. Something inside of him snapped. Fat tears rolled soundlessly down his cheeks, soaking into her t-shirt, but she didn't care. She only held him tighter.

"It's okay…oh Peter, kiddo, you're alright…"

It was the same thing everyone had been telling every time he regained consciousness, but May said it so _sincerely_ that for the first time, Peter truly felt like he would be alright. She'd always been able to comfort him in that way, ever since she'd first held him in her arms after telling him his parents weren't coming back. He was always safe with her; he never had to put up a brave front. He could just give in to his emotions.

"I'm so sorry Peter," she said as she held him, tears in her own eyes, and Peter pulled himself back from her grip for a moment to look at her confusedly.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I should've noticed you were gone sooner, should've realized something was wrong when you didn't come home from detention…I thought you'd gone on patrol, but if I'd just looked in your room and seen your suit…"

"None of this is your fault," Peter interrupted, voice just slightly distressed as he pulled away to look at her distraught expression. "You didn't cause this and nothing you could've done would've changed this, so don't say you're sorry, okay?"

May took one hand off of his arm to wipe at her eyes. "Okay. Okay, sweetie. I won't blame myself…but only if you don't blame yourself, alright? This wasn't your fault either. It wasn't…do you understand?"

Peter was quiet, no longer able to meet her gaze. He did understand what she was saying, but he wasn't quite ready to accept it. His silence was enough for now, though, because May just gave his arms a comforting squeeze and shifted back on her chair. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything?"

"Water?" Peter asked, starting to unconsciously fiddle with his blanket. May went to the other side of the room and retrieved a plastic cup of water and a straw, then brought it back over to Peter. A moment later, she fished a tissue out of her purse and handed that to him too.

"Thanks," he said. He balanced the cup on the mattress next to him as he blew his nose, then May took the tissue from him and threw it into the wastebasket behind her.

"I have this for you too. Your principal gave it back to me, the day…" she trailed off, pulling out Peter's phone and holding it out to him. The screen was black.

"Your friends were all told the same story about the funeral and everything, but Ned and Michelle…I don't think they believe it. I wanted you to be able to choose if they knew the truth or not, so I haven't said anything. I turned your phone off to save the battery. They wouldn't stop texting and calling…"

Peter nodded and took the phone from her, staring at its dark screen for a minute. They must be so worried about him right now. Even if he had been at a funeral, it still would've been unusual to not text them back at all, so they would know something was up. They should know the truth. They were his best friends, they'd always supported him through everything. But this…this was different. This was worse than anything Peter had faced before, and he wasn't sure he wanted to tell them yet. Wasn't sure if he could. He set the phone at his side without turning it on, and May gave him an understanding look.

"They love you a lot, Peter. No matter what happens, they'll always be there for you."

"I know."

…

 _"_ _I want to watch you_ squirm _," the Butcher said as he plunged a knife into Peter's side. He could feel the pain of it, sharp and white-hot, and watched as muchtoomuch blood spilled from his body. He knew biology. He was good at it. There's no way a person could lose that much blood without dying, he_ had _to be dead right now, but he could still feel everything and_ god _, it hurt, dead people didn't feel pain did they?_

 _His lungs burned as he screamed, but no sound escaped his lips. All he could hear was the Butcher's sadistic laughter as he carved into Peter's flesh._

 _"_ _Please," Peter begged "Please, I can't…" And suddenly the Butcher stopped. He loomed over Peter, larger than life, bloody knife in hand and a twisted smile at his lips. Then he turned around._

 _Peter had no idea why he hadn't seen it before, but there was a table identical to the one he was bound to on the other side of the room. Strapped to it was Ned, looking terrified._

 _"_ _No," Peter whispered as the Butcher moved away, coming ever closer toward his friend, "NO!"_

 _But his voice still didn't make sound, and the Butcher started gleefully torturing Ned, whose screams were_ very much _audible and rang in Peter's ears, burning into his brain. Then Ned turned into MJ, her normally calm and blasé façade broken by pain and terror. Peter struggled against his bonds, feeling the shackles cut into his wrists, forceful to the point where he might dislocate something, but desperate to save his friends._

 _Then MJ turned into Aunt May._

No _, Peter thought,_ I won't let this happen again _. He wasn't going to lose Aunt May, wasn't going to watch the last family member he had be taken from him while he just stood by. He wasn't going to let the one person who'd always loved and been there for him be hurt. He screamed, voice finally echoing throughout the room as he gained an extra burst of strength and ripped out of his shackles. The Butcher paused, turned back, but at that moment Peter lunged._

 _He tackled the Butcher, slamming his head into the concrete floor as he hit him over and over again anywhere he could reach. He was angrier than he had ever felt before, a rushing sound engulfing his ears as his vision tinted red. He wrapped his hands around the man's neck, determined to choke every last ounce of life out of him._

 _Then suddenly the Butcher's face changed, morphing into that of Tony Stark. Peter recoiled backward, falling off the body as if he had been shocked._

 _"_ _No. Nonononono…." He moaned, staring at the familiar face of his mentor, bloodied and unmoving. "No, please be alive, don't be dead, I can't…" he poked at the body, begging it to show some sign of life. Jammed his fingers into the man's neck. There was no pulse._

 _"_ _No!"_

"Peter!"

He jerked awake suddenly, gasping and rocketing upward in bed. Everything was too bright, too loud, and his spider-sense was ringing in his head and someone was grabbing his arm…

"Peter? C'mon kid, come back. You're awake. You're safe."

He turned his head to see Tony Stark at his side, concern etched into his face. Then, for a moment all he could see was that same face, bloody and lifeless…

" _Oh god,_ " he croaked, and whatever expression he made must have been obvious, because an instant later Tony had released Peter's arm and whipped the trash can over to his side. Peter retched violently into it, and he felt a hand come to rest comfortingly on his back.

When the contents of his stomach were finally emptied, the hand disappeared, and Peter leaned back and shut his eyes tightly as he heard footsteps retreating from his bed. The door to the room opened for a second, and there was a soft _thud_ as the trashcan was set down into the hallway. Then the door closed again, and the footsteps came back.

"Peter?" Tony said again with concern. Peter kept his eyes closed for a few more moments, until his heart and senses could calm down, and then finally looked at his mentor.

"Where's Aunt May?"

Tony sat back down, "Changing of the guard. It's six a.m. She's asleep."

"Oh…" He didn't remember falling asleep himself. Part of him was surprised that they seemed to have some sort of formal rotation going on. He wanted to argue that he could be left alone, that he didn't always need someone at his bedside, but the other part of him craved the presence of someone familiar. He didn't say anything.

"So…do you want to talk about it?" Tony asked, somewhat awkwardly a beat later, hands gesturing in the empty air.

Right. His nightmare. Peter pressed his lips together for a moment. "No. Yes…I…" he took a breath. Where to start? Did he even want to start? The images were eating him up on the inside, but they were so personal, so painful, and there was absolutely _no_ way he was going to tell Tony about how dream-Peter strangled him. The whole thing felt so real, but so unreal at the same time. At that moment, he suddenly decided he couldn't tell Mr. Stark about his nightmare. The next words tumbled out of his mouth unexpectedly, but with a sudden desperation filling his chest, he knew he needed answers. "Who was he? Why did he do it?"

A slight flash of panic crossed Tony's face, but he suppressed it well. "Kid, I really don't think you want to know…"

"I do. I need to, Mr. Stark. _Please_."

Tony sighed. And began.


	4. Chapter 4

"His name was Solomon Boone," Tony started. Peter leaned forward toward the man as far as his injuries would allow, eyes wide as he hung off every word, desperate for answers.

"He's a scientist at Oscorp. Well, used to be a scientist at Oscorp, until six months ago. He worked in their biological research department for almost four years until one of his coworkers discovered him performing… _unethical_ experiments on the lab animals."

A darkness flashed across Tony's eyes at that sentence. Peter didn't press for details.

"Very smart guy. Graduated in the top ten percent of his class at Princeton, but his classmates found him odd. Didn't have a lot of friends, got bullied. Had a history of cruel and violent behavior. Standard recipe for a psychopath."

"That was it? That was why he did all this? Because he was some sort of sadist?" Peter's voice cracked. There was no grand reason, no desire for revenge against someone, no supervillain-level twisted ideals at play. Causing pain and suffering to another human being simply for its own sake…that somehow seemed worse.

"As far as we can tell, yeah," Tony answered, rubbing a hand over his face wearily, "The police are still going through his stuff, so they might uncover some sort of ulterior motive, but for right now, that's it."

Peter leaned back on the bed, twisting his hands in his lap subconsciously as there was a beat of silence. Then, "So…how did you find me?"

"The drug," Tony answered, suddenly making eye contact with Peter for the first time since he'd woken up. "Boone had made it himself. By the time all of the other victims were recovered, the drug had dissipated too far to be useful. But you saved that woman, and she was sent to a hospital where they got a sample, and then I was able to use my resources to trace it back to a variation on a new anesthesia drug that Oscorp had been developing right before Boone had been fired. All because you saved her."

Peter opened his mouth, feeling like he had to respond to that somehow, but before he could get a word out Tony started speaking again, voice becoming increasingly more frantic.

"Did you know, for a split second, I was mad at you? I was honest to god _angry_ because I thought you hadn't listened to me again and had gone after the Butcher yourself. That you had done it deliberately out of some sort of spite toward me, all because I was so _goddamn self-obsessed_ …

"But you didn't. You saw a woman in trouble and without your suit, without your webshooters, without a thought you jumped in to save her just because it was the right thing to do. Because you're a better person than I'll ever be, Peter; you've always been a better person, no matter what I've said in the past. And you were dying, and I thought that the last real thing I ever said to you was going to be all of that horrible stuff that I didn't even mean, that I only said in the first place because I was so fucking _scared_ of losing you just like I've lost everyone else I cared about so I pushed you away instead. But you didn't deserve that, and I'm sorry." His eyes were suspiciously watery as he hung his head in apology, finally breaking eye contact. Peter stared at his bowed form for a few minutes, thoughts racing through his head as he tried to find words to respond.

"Tony…?" he said finally, one hand reaching out toward the man before resting on the mattress, unsure what he was trying to accomplish. The billionaire looked up sharply at the sound of his first name, a hand quickly swiping at his red eyes. "I forgive you."

It was as if a weight had been lifted from the man's shoulders as his body visibly relaxed in a way that Peter had never seen before. But Peter wasn't done, "And I'm sorry too. For everything I said."

"No," Tony said suddenly, voice gaining strength once again, "You have nothing to apologize for. You had a right to ask all the questions you did, I was out of line. I don't want you to take anything back, okay?"

"Okay."

"I mean it. And I promise I'm going to do better from now on, be here for you whenever and for whatever you need. I'm far from being a perfect person. I make mistakes… _god_ , do I make a lot of mistakes. But I'm going to do right by you, I swear."

That promise hung heavily in the air as silence settled between the two of them. Peter didn't know what to say to that, but he also didn't think he needed to say anything. He had no doubt that Tony meant every word, and that was enough for Peter.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter stared at his phone

 _46 missed calls_

 _108 new text messages_

It had been a couple days since Peter and Tony had their heart-to-heart, and while the doctor told Peter that he was healing very quickly considering his injuries, he would still be confined to his hospital bed for at least a little while longer. As he started staying awake for longer and longer periods, Peter couldn't help but start to feel a little restless and bored. He'd been given a Starkpad to entertain himself, but even Netflix got boring when you were only allowed to get up from bed to go to the bathroom—and even that he wasn't allowed to do by himself.

His phone had been sitting on his nightstand ever since May had given it to him, black screen shining with orange light reflected from the window. He'd spent a lot of time staring at it, going back and forth on whether or not he should turn it on. It was only when his Aunt left the room to go get them both lunch (he'd been complaining about how much he missed Delmar's) that he finally made a decision.

He pressed the power button.

Immediately, his phone came to life, beeping and buzzing with all the missed communication. The first couple of calls and texts were from Aunt May, presumably from when he first went missing, and he deleted those without even looking at them. He didn't want to be reminded of how afraid she must've been, didn't want to hear the panic in her voice.

There were a few odd texts from his friends on the decathlon team, dated from after he'd been rescued by Tony, saying that they were sorry for his loss—and then a few sent more recently hoping that he'd get well soon (so that must have been when car crash story went into effect).

The rest were from Ned and MJ.

...

 _ManInTheChair (20:42): Dude, what's going on?_

 _ManInTheChair (20:44): You don't have an aunt in California?_

 _ManInTheChair (20:45): You know I've got your back, right? You can tell me anything!_

 _ManInTheChair (21:01): Peter?_

 _ManInTheChair (21:03): Please just let me know you're okay_

 _UnstoppableForce (21:46): Hey loser, answer Ned, he's freaking out_

 _UnstoppableForce (21:51): …I'm worried too_

 _UnstoppableForce (21:53): This better not be some kind of joke, or I swear…_

 _UnstoppableForce (21:02): Peter, please. Say something_

 _Those went on for a while. Then:_

 _ManInTheChair (16:53): May called today. She said you were okay, but she wouldn't say what happened_

 _ManInTheChair (16:54):_ i _haven't heard her sound that sad since_

 _ManInTheChair (16:54): Sorry didn't mean to send that last text_

 _ManInTheChair (16:58): Please, just text one of us when you can?_

 _UnstoppableForce (12:23): Car crash? That's bullshit_

They must have realized he wasn't going to be texting them back anytime soon, because the individual concerned messages stopped at that point. After that, they texted to the group chat that the three of them shared, every day filling Peter in on what was happening while he was gone.

 _UnstoppableForce (15:36): Flash is filling in for you for decathlon now. He's overjoyed_

 _ManInTheChair (15:37): He's still getting most of the answers wrong tho. When MJ asked him what major river ran through Tuscany, he said Artoo!_

 _UnstoppableForce (15:40): Maybe he's a Star Wars nerd like you dorks after all_

 _ManInTheChair (19:00): Got the Lego Millennium Falcon today. 7500 pieces!_

 _ManInTheChair (19:02): Wish you were here to help build it_

 _UnstoppableForce (7:58): Tried those Copics you got me for Christmas on the poster I'm taking to the immigration march tomorrow. They're seriously awesome, here's a pic_

 _ManInTheChair (21:17): Dude, you've never taken MJ to that Mexican place two blocks from your apartment? We NEED to go as soon as you get home_

 _UnstoppableForce (21:18): Yeah Parker, what's the deal? You know I'm a sucker for a good burrito_

By the time Peter was done reading through every single message, he had a huge smile on his face for the first time in what felt like ages.

"Mr. Delmar threw in an extra sandwich and bag of chips on the house, said you'd better get well soon!" May laughed as she reentered the room, two big paper bags in tow. Peter set the phone down and looked up at her.

"Can I see my friends?"

...

An hour later, a brief knock on the door was Peter's only warning before suddenly his two best friends were standing in the doorway, seemingly frozen in place as they stared at him in shock. Ned was holding a giant stuffed Porg with a balloon tied around its neck that had a pink _It's a Girl!_ message crudely Sharpied out to say _Get Well Soon!_ —Peter guessed it was a gift from both of them.

"Hi guys," Peter said lamely, sitting up straighter in bed. His speaking broke the spell, and they slowly approached his bedside. Ned set the Porg down on the nightstand while MJ came to grip the railing on his bed. He didn't miss their inspections of him, eyes lingering particularly on the bandages still around his torso. Ned was the first to return his gaze to Peter's, and he twisted his hands together, a move Peter had come to recognize as uncertainty.

"Can I…hug you?" Ned asked finally.

"Yeah," Peter answered, a smile forming at the corners of his lips.

Suddenly he was engulfed by both of them, their arms gentle but firm around him. He hugged them back best he could, suddenly finding tears prickling at his eyes. He blinked hard, trying to force them away, but then he noticed that Ned and MJ were crying too.

"You stupid idiot," MJ sniffed, still not letting him go, "We were so worried about you."

"I'm sorry," Peter said sincerely.

"Don't say that!" Ned protested. At this rate, Peter would never be apologizing for anything ever again. "We're just glad you're okay."

Ned and MJ finally drew away from Peter and pulled the two nearby chairs up to his bedside.

"Did-did they explain what happened?" Peter asked, finally addressing the elephant in the room.

"No," MJ answered, voice holding no judgment quite possibly for the first time ever, "And you don't have to tell us if you don't want to."

They were his _best friends_. He loved them both so much, and he knew they felt the same way. He knew that if he said he didn't want to tell them about what happened, they wouldn't ask him about it again for the rest of their lives. They were just that great. He hadn't told anyone the details, not Tony, not even May, though they both said they would be there for him if he ever wanted to. He looked between Ned and MJ. He looked at the Porg and its balloon, just behind Ned's shoulder.

"I…I think I want to."

...

When Tony came by to check up on Peter later that evening, he found all three high schoolers laying side by side in the small hospital bed together, fast asleep. He noted the dried tear tracks under all their eyes, and then the dark bags under Ned and MJ's. It occurred to him that they must have been just as exhausted with worry over Peter as he had been ( _still is_ , he corrected, _because it will be a miracle the day that boy doesn't make him worry_ ), and he felt a small pang of guilt for not reaching out and reassuring them before.

Tony slowly backed out of the room, resolving to call Ned and MJ's parents to tell them not to expect their children home that night. Despite the tears, this was the most content Tony had ever seen Peter while sleeping since he arrived at the hospital, and he knew it was directly because of his friends.

He'd make sure they had a ride upstate whenever they wanted.


	6. Chapter 6

"Tony?"

"Hmm?" the man said absentmindedly, spinning the projected suit schematic hovering above Peter's bed with a twirl of his hand in order to get a better look at it. Whether he actually needed Peter's input on his latest designs or was just trying to stave off the teen's ever increasing boredom, Peter would never know. He appreciated the effort all the same. Still, though, there had been one person absent from his bedside ever since he'd ended up there, and it was starting to weigh on his thoughts.

"Why hasn't Happy come to visit me?"

Tony paused mid zooming-gesture. Then, with a press of a button on his StarkPad, the suit projection was gone. Peter grew worried in the ensuing moment of silence.

"Not that he has to or anything—he really doesn't, I was just wondering because I haven't seen him, and I thought we were kind of cool, y'know, and—"

"Woah kid, calm down," Tony said, hand coming to rest on one of Peter's nervously fidgeting arms. Peter had noticed the man making contact like that in small ways more often lately. Mostly occurring when he was particularly troubled, the small touches grounded him, provided him comfort—he never said anything for fear of losing them. "You are okay. You're more than okay; as grumpy as Happy acts sometimes, he cares about you a lot."

"Then why hasn't he—"

"He was the self-appointed liaison for the police investigation on the Butcher after you were found," Tony cut him off calmly. "I think he felt he needed to make himself useful while you were unconscious in the hospital—he's never been great with dealing with big, emotional things like this. Huh," he paused, wrinkled his brow. "I guess we have a lot in common that way."

"Has the investigation really gone on that long?" Peter asked. It had been nearly two weeks since the Incident, and Peter didn't think there were really that many loose ends that needed to be tied up.

"…not really. He has visited you, a few times, but only when you've been asleep. And he sits in a chair just down the hall constantly—almost like he's keeping watch? I think he feels guilty for," Tony waved his hand in the air vaguely, "not keeping you safe or something."

"But that's ridiculous!" Peter protested, "He had nothing to do with any of this! If anything, he made me promise to stay away from the Butcher, and I did. For him. He couldn't have known this was going to happen."

"I know, and I've told him that, but you know he's felt extra protective of you since the whole Vulture thing, and I think this is kind of a carryover from that. Look, I'll talk to him again, okay? Tell him you want to see him. I'll say you gave me the puppy dog eyes and everything; he can't turn that down."

…

A couple hours later, there was a knock on the door. Peter paused the episode of Parks and Rec he was watching on Netflix and turned his attention to it. "Come in."

The door opened slowly, almost hesitantly, and Happy Hogan inched his way over the threshold, looking like he was unsure if he should be there or not. "Hey kid," he said.

Peter's face broke out into a smile, "Happy! It's so good to see you, man."

The man lowered himself into the chair at Peter's bedside, face reddening slightly at Peter's words, "Yeah, sorry about that kid. Mr. Stark said you wanted to see me."

"Yeah! I-I did. I mean, I just feel like I haven't seen you in forever, y'know? And, I know, I mean, I was told that you came to visit while I was asleep, but that's not really the same thing, and—"

"Breathe, kid," Happy said cracking a small smile, and Peter took it as a win as he paused.

"We're friends, right?" Peter asked, "buddies, pals?"

"Hmm," Happy mused, as if he was thinking about it for the first time, "I guess we are."

"So you'll come visit me more often from now on? When I'm awake, I mean? 'Cause I kinda miss hanging out with you, even if it's just talking about stupid stuff like baseball or food."

Happy subconsciously leaned back in his chair (distancing himself), and Peter saw his face start to shut down. It was like some kind of fight or flight instincts were kicking in, and Happy was choosing flight, "I don't know kid, I'm kinda busy…"

"Happy this isn't your fault. You know that, right?"

The man looked down at the hands twisting in his lap. At the slightest hint of emotions and vulnerability, he grew visibly uncomfortable. But he answered anyway. "I should have been checking up on you more, especially with everything going on between you and Tony. I mean, the last time you got into an argument with him, you fought the Vulture and almost died! I-I should have been picking you up from detention, or, or…"

"No!" Peter interrupted, "You were doing the best you could. You were there for me even…even when Tony wasn't. Going out to lunch with me and stuff—I really liked that. Especially after everything, it helped a lot. And-and I don't want to lose that. None of this was your fault, and I really don't think there's anything you could have done that would have changed what happened. I know you want to keep me safe—but I just want you to be my friend."

Happy's eyes were strangely glistening by the end of Peter's speech, and in one move he leaned forward and wrapped the boy into a bear hug.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice muffled, and Peter knew that this time, it wasn't about the Butcher.

"It's okay," Peter said, wrapping one arm around Happy's shoulders and hugging him back. It was all over in an instant, though, Happy leaning back again with a large sniffle, wiping at the corner of one eye.

"As soon as you get out of this place, kid, I'm taking you to the best Greek restaurant this side of New York."

Peter smiled. "I can't wait."


	7. Chapter 7

"Peter, I have to tell you something," May said some time later, a twinge of guilt in her voice. They had been in the middle of watching funny cat videos when she made her announcement. Peter tapped the screen of the Starkpad to pause it, suddenly growing nervous.

"Yeah?"

"Well, you know how I've been picking up all of those late shifts recently, and I haven't really been around much? Before all this, I mean?"

Peter nodded. Starting about three weeks before Peter got into all of this mess, she'd been working a lot of extra hours that would get her home late, around ten o'clock most nights. She drove home every night, so he wasn't too concerned about her safety, but he had been worried that the rent had been raised or something and she wasn't telling him.

"That was a lie," she said, taking a deep breath. "I haven't been called in for more hours…I've been taking night classes. I'm studying to be a nurse."

"Really?" Peter said.

She nodded and held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

Peter's face lit up with a smile, the most authentic one he'd had in a long time, "May, that's great!"

"You think so? Oh, I'm so glad," she said, relieved.

"That's so awesome, you'll be a great nurse! You'll get to help so many people!"

"That's the plan," she laughed weakly. "It's just…I've been feeling so helpless recently, knowing you're out on your patrols, seeing the news clips of you fighting bad guys and not being able to do anything to keep you safe. And I thought…maybe this was how I could help."

"I'm so proud of you," He gushed. It was weird—usually, she was the one saying that to him, but he couldn't have meant the words more. May's expression was filled with joy.

"Thank you, Peter," she reached out and held his hand. "But…there's one more thing."

His smile faltered. She caught it.

"No, it's not bad! It's just, you know how you'll be finally moving out of this room tomorrow?"

He nodded.

"Well, my work and school have been very generous in giving me time off to see you for all this time, but I really can't take advantage of that too much longer. I know Mr. Stark has made an offer for you to continue to recover at the compound, which I really prefer to you staying home alone while I'm working—but, that also means I won't be able to keep seeing you as often…."

"No, no, yeah, I completely understand," Peter answered. "Go do what you need to do."

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" she looked hesitant.

"Yeah. I-I love you being here, of course. But…I know I'm safe now. I'll be alright." He gave the most reassuring smile he could muster. He would be okay here. And it was worth it, for May to be pursuing something she was so passionate about.

May leaned in to hug him, "You're the best kid anyone could ever ask for, you know that? I love you so much."

Peter relished in the feeling of warmth and security as her arms wrapped around him. "I love you too."

* * *

"Well kiddo, you ready to move out?" Tony asked, leaning against the doorframe with a duffle bag under his arm. Doctor Young had just left after a final checkup, finally giving him the clearance to leave the medical wing for good. Peter sat up quickly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and starting to stand.

"Yeah, let's go!"

"Slow down there, Pete. Go get changed first," he tossed the duffle bag to Peter, who opened it and started carding through the contents. He had been allowed him to change out of the hospital gown and into his own pajamas nearly a week ago, but this bag was filled with his normal, day clothes from home. Jeans, khakis, sweaters, shirts—he pulled out a familiar knitted hat and gloves from the bag and them up to inspect them for a moment.

"May packed it," Tony explained, "I told her the compound had excellent temperature control, but she was still worried about you getting a chill. _Aunts_." He shrugged as if that explained it.

Peter got to his feet and dragged the massive duffle to the bathroom, not failing to notice that Tony's eyes nervously followed him the entire journey until he shut the door. His legs had come out of the Incident relatively unscathed, but still, the man seemed to think he was in danger of falling over every time he stood up. At least, that's what it felt like. Though he never actually said anything, for which Peter was grateful.

His fingers had lost their casts quite a few days ago, but still, Peter chose to skip a button down for just a plain t-shirt: a maroon one with gold lettering that had the periodic symbol for iron with "MAN" placed underneath it. It was one of his favorites…and he also knew it would make Tony roll his eyes. The pair of jeans he pulled on was soft and well-worn, and in the bag, he also found socks and a pair of shoes that he slipped on.

He looked in the mirror.

His broken nose had healed straight, thankfully, and any trace of injury on his face was long gone. But overall, the face staring back at him didn't look…great. Maybe it was just a trick of the artificial bathroom light, but he looked paler than usual. His cheeks just slightly more sunken, and the bags under his eyes were unmissable.

It didn't look like him. It hadn't for a while now.

" _Peter? You doing okay in there_?" Tony's voice called, muffled slightly through the closed door. It was enough to snap him out of his musings.

"Uh, yeah, I'll be done in a minute!" he pulled a comb out of the duffle and tried to run it through his massive case of bedhead, but quickly wrote it off as a loss and packed everything back away. He opened the door again to find Tony had stepped into the room, hovering near the bathroom but trying to make it look like he wasn't hovering by scrolling through his phone.

"You good?" he asked, looking up.

"Yeah," Peter said, adjusting the strap of the bag more securely over his shoulder.

"Great, let's go then."

He led Peter out the door and down the hall, through the many hallways of the New Avengers Facility all the way to the living quarters. Despite having visited quite a few times in the past, Peter still hadn't had a chance to explore all of the massive compound, and he tried to take in the details of everything they passed by along the way.

They soon found themselves in the common area of the facility, complete with a massive, open plan living room, dining room, and kitchen. Peter had been here many times before, whether hanging out and doing homework or grabbing a snack after a training session. Tony guided him further in though, down another hall that Peter had never been down before, but knew was the general direction leading to the personal quarters that had been set up for the other Avengers. They stopped in front of a door.

"So, uh…yeah. This is your room," and Tony opened the door.

It was massive. That was the first thing Peter noticed. At least four times the size of his bedroom back in Queens, with a giant window on the back wall that looked out into the lush fields and further tree-line that bordered the facility. There was a door that Peter assumed lead to the bathroom on another wall and a closet in the corner.

And the stuff inside the room. The bed was a queen size—forget the twin bunk bed he slept on at home—with the softest looking sheets he had ever seen and a plush, blue comforter neatly made up on top of it. There was a large desk with a very expensive looking computer, and across from that was a flat-screen television with multiple game consoles and two overstuffed beanbag chairs on the floor. And to top it all off, decorating the walls were artful photographs of the New York City skyline and a couple of carefully chosen science-pun posters. Peter took it all in with wide eyes, then turned to the billionaire.

"T-Tony, this is…just…wow. Thank you."

Tony waved his hand through the air dismissively, "Nah, no need for that. You're part of the team, it only made sense."

A wave of fondness washed over Peter.

Tony stuck his hands in his pockets. "Dinner is gonna be in about an hour. Are you okay to, uh, settle in and unpack by yourself?" There it was again. That little bit of hesitancy, that overprotectiveness that he failed to mask entirely with a casual tone. Peter gave him a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, I'm good. Might take a shower too, I'm kind of sick of the smell of hospital soap."

"Cool, cool," he responded. "I guess I'll leave you to it then. If you need anything, you know how FRIDAY works."

Peter nodded, and Tony left, leaving the door slightly cracked open behind him. Peter walked over to the bed and set down his duffle bag, then sat down himself. He looked around the room again. Tony had really paid great attention to detail, from his favorite shade of blue paint on the walls to the Lego Star Wars kits on a bookshelf by the desk (he made a mental note to invite Ned over sometime soon—he was gonna _freak_ ). It was a level of thoughtfulness that Peter hadn't expected from the man—or at least, he wouldn't have expected before. It was still strange, how much more open and…well, emotional the man was being with him now. It wasn't like he was showering Peter with hugs or bursting into tears constantly, but it was all of the little things: the concern, the constant checking in, the occasional pats on the back or arm around his shoulders. He really did seem to _care_ , and he was making an effort to show it.

It was certainly a change. But it was nice.


	8. Chapter 8

It didn't take too long for Peter to unpack his duffle bag, and when that was done, he made his way to the bathroom to take a shower. Opening the door, he wasn't surprised to find that it was also bigger than any bathroom he'd seen before, not only outfitted with a shower but _also_ a giant soaker tub _,_ and was that a heated towel rack? Oh my god, the _luxury_. Tony Stark's level of extra was as big of his fortune, but when it meant that Peter got to use things like a heated towel rack, he wasn't complaining.

He was torn for a minute between whether or not to try out the tub ( _it had jets!_ ) but ended up settling on his original plan of a shower instead. He didn't have _that_ much time, and when he finally used that tub he wanted to enjoy it. He deliberately avoided the mirror this time as he stripped down, but couldn't help seeing the traces the Butcher left behind on his body. His healing ability usually helped prevent his injuries from scarring, but because it had been acting up after everything that had happened, a few managed to slip through. Most of them were fairly faint, just a few lines across his torso where he'd been sliced by any number of nasty instruments. The worst was the stab wound, an ugly, raised mess of a scar on his side left behind to remind him; and the scar that resulted from his surgery, which was much smaller and neater, but still prominent.

He supposed it was a good thing they were telling everyone he got into a car accident. Whenever he ended up going back to school, there was no way the other guys wouldn't notice when they were changing for gym class, and at least that way he wouldn't have to try to make something up.

He stepped into the shower and turned the knob, flinching at the initial blast of cold water but settling into it as it warmed. The soap already stocked there was high-end and smelled vaguely familiar, though he couldn't quite place it. He squeezed some onto a sponge and started to methodically lather it on, finding himself unconsciously fixating on the scars, passing over them again, and again, and again…

The Butcher had tortured him. Violated him, in a sense. Drugged him, tied him down, and rendered him completely and utterly vulnerable before relishing in his pain. And every time he looked at himself now, he'd be reminded of it. The cuts, the burns, the bruises. Those scars were never going away, and he'd remember that pain for the rest of his life.

He finally stopped the sponge when he passed over his surgical scar too roughly and elicited a jolt of pain—it was the only spot that was still tender, not quite fully healed yet. His violent scrubbing had turned his skin bright red, but the burn it left behind felt good. Helped distract his thoughts.

He quickly finished the rest of his routine and shut the water off, opening the shower door and pulling out a wonderfully warm and soft towel. He dried himself off and dressed, and he stepped out of the bathroom just in time for FRIDAY to announce:

" _Mr. Stark wanted me to let you know that dinner is ready, Peter._ "

"Thanks, FRIDAY," He answered.

He backtracked his way through the hall until he emerged into the common area, where Tony was taking bowls of food from the counter and moving them over to the dining table. He was wearing an apron that said: " _Hot stuff coming through!"_. Peter walked into the kitchen.

"Can I help?" he asked. Tony set his bowls down and turned around.

"Uh, sure. If you wanna bring that salad over, we should be all set."

Peter took the last remaining bowl of salad from the counter and carried over to the table while Tony untied the apron and hung it up on a hook by the fridge. They both sat down, and as Peter looked at the food his stomach grumbled audibly. Tony laughed.

"I didn't know you could cook," Peter said as he started filling up his plate. Because honestly, it all looked and smelled _amazing._ It was only spaghetti, but the noodles were perfectly cooked _al dente_ and the sauce looked homemade—not like the jars of Prego May usually used. Peter had been expecting takeout, or maybe a frozen pizza, but this blew away his expectations.

"I can't really," Tony said, and was that a blush creeping up his neck? "But I found some of my mother's old recipes sitting in a box the other day and I thought, why not give it a try?"

"Oh," Peter stuck a forkful of pasta in his mouth and hummed appreciatively ( _holy crap it was amazing_ ), but made sure to chew and swallow before continuing. "Did she cook a lot?"

There was a moment of silence as Tony twirled his fork in his food, seemingly lost in thought. Then, "Yeah. It was the one thing she really loved. I didn't spend a lot of time with her growing up, with all of the charity events and stuff she was busy with all the time, but she, uh…she always made time for Sunday dinner. And she always had me help her in the kitchen."

"That sounds nice," Peter said sincerely.

"It was some of my better childhood memories," Tony agreed, "But I think my skills are probably limited to like, three Italian recipes. Otherwise, Pepper says I could burn water."

Peter snorted, "That's nothing. Aunt May once accidentally sent me to school with a peanut butter and mayo sandwich."

They both shuddered at the thought.

The rest of dinner passed with more lighthearted conversation, and when they were both finished, Peter offered to wash the dishes.

"Nah kid, thanks, but that's what the dishwasher is for."

"Don't you have to scrape all the extra food off the dishes before you load them though?"

Tony gave him a pointed look, "What kind of billionaire do you think I am if I couldn't get a dishwasher that did its damn job?"

Peter laughed at that and then compromised by loading most of the dishes into the dishwasher by himself. He might technically be a guest here, but his aunt had always taught him to help out, and he was going to make sure he did—especially considering the lengths Tony was going to accommodate him.

"So…" Tony said after they had finished cleaning up, "You want to watch a movie or something?"

Peter agreed, and they migrated over to the living room, surveying the vast collection of DVDs, Blu-Ray, and Netflix before settling on a comedy that neither of them had actually seen before.

They sat on the couch together, laughing at the dumb jokes and throwing out dumb commentary. Halfway through the movie, Tony got up to microwave some popcorn, and Peter realized that this was the most casual interaction he had ever had with the man. In the past, they had chatted, and Tony had helped him with his homework a few times, but mostly their meetings involved either superhero training or tinkering in the lab. He never would have thought that Tony would cook family recipes, or be into stupid comedies, or anything like that. It was almost as surprising as the disheveledness he'd displayed when Peter first woke up in the hospital all those days ago. It seemed more and more he was discovering a side of Tony that he hadn't known before—a more human side.

"It's a little burnt, but I put extra butter in," Tony said, a big bowl filled with slightly blackened popcorn in one hand and two cans in another. "I got soda too—you like orange or root beer?"

"Root beer," Peter answered, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth as soon as the man sat down. Tony handed him the can and then popped open his own, taking a long swig.

"So, what did I miss?" Tony asked. Peter started filling him in.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: ao3 is down right now, so for once, you guys get the chapter update first!**

* * *

 _He was in the room again._

 _His arms and legs were bound to the Butcher's table, restraints digging into his flesh and eliciting sharp spikes of pain whenever he tried to move. He couldn't suppress the feeling of panic rising in his chest. He knew what was coming._

 _The door slammed open, the sound reverberating off the concrete walls and ringing in Peter's skull. In walked Adrian Toomes. There was a twisted smile on his face._

 _"_ _Hello, Peter," he said, "Long time no see."_

 _He stepped forward, and suddenly there was a knife in his hand that Peter was sure hadn't been there before._ Please, don't _Peter tried to beg, but no sound came out of his mouth, he couldn't speak, he couldn't move._

 _A snarl appeared on Toomes's face, and he plunged the knife into Peter's side. The pain was hot and blinding, but his screams were silent._

 _"_ _You took everything from me," he spat, "My wife, my daughter…you killed me."_

I didn't! _Peter tried to scream, still to no result,_ I didn't kill you, you're in jail, you're…

 _But there were deep purple bruises on the man's throat. Bruises in the shape of Peter's hands. Now there was blood on his face, and his skin was ghostly pale._

 _"_ _Goodbye, Spider-Man," Toomes said, and suddenly an explosion rang throughout the building, and the ceiling was cracking, crumbling, falling, huge chunks of concrete and rebar crushing Toomes's body as he laughed and laughed, collapsing on top of Peter's restrained form, burying him under painful and oppressive weight._

 _He was drugged, he couldn't move, it wouldn't wear off in time, he was going to die strapped to a table suffocating on concrete and dust…_

He woke up thrashing in the dark, tangled in his own blankets.

 _Get out, get out, get out, get out_ his mind screamed at him, but his body only panicked and restricted him further.

 _No, Peter. Stop. Relax._ He forced himself to pause, take deep breaths. His lungs were burning as if he'd run a marathon. Slowly, he was able to calm down enough to untangle himself from his bed. The knuckles on his right hand stung, and there was the taste of iron in his mouth—he realized he'd subconsciously bitten his hand to keep from screaming out. Good. He didn't disturb anyone.

" _Peter, I detect a rapid increase in your heart rate. Would you like me to inform Mr. Stark?_ "

"No!" Peter yelled at FRIDAY, "N-no, that's okay. I just…I just need a glass of water, that's all. C-could you turn the lights up, please?"

He took another slow, deep breath as the lights rose in his bedroom. Tony couldn't know he was still having nightmares. At least, not constant, crippling nightmares that left him trembling and weak for _hours_ , nightmares that kept him from sleeping for the rest of the night and left him exhausted the next day, nightmares that gave him headaches and phantom pains and paranoia that he couldn't shake.

And sure, Tony had known about some of the nightmares he's had in the past and yeah, he had been really understanding, but Peter is _healing_ now. He's supposed to be better. He's supposed to be getting past all this.

Besides, it's not like he's had these nightmares every night, anyway, just…a lot of nights.

He stumbled through the dimly lit room over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He turned on the faucet, hand trembling as he reached out to clutch the glass on the counter…

 _Hands around the Butcher's neck, tighter, tighter. He was struggling, squirming, he can't move anymore, you have to press harder until he can't move anymore, can't breathe…_

The glass shattered in Peter's grip, the shards cutting into his skin and scattering over the bathroom counter. Rivulets of blood dripped down Peter's hand, coating the glass like fallen rubies. He fell to the ground and lunged for the toilet, just barely making it before his entire dinner came back up again, spattering into the bowl.

He never heard FRIDAY calling out to him. He did hear the pounding at the bathroom door minutes later.

"Peter?" _Pound. Pound._ "Are you okay? I need you to answer me!" _Pound. Pound._ Tony's voice was frantic. All Peter could do was retch into the toilet again.

"I'm coming in!" he warned, and suddenly the door was thrown open and there was Tony, hair mussed with sleep, wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt, and looking very worried.

" _Shit_ ," he swore, looking between the shattered glass, Peter's bloody hand, and the vomit-stained toilet. He knelt down next to Peter, placing a comforting hand on his back. "Can you move?"

Shakily, Peter nodded, wincing at the sour taste in his mouth. With one hand braced around him, Tony helped Peter stand up, then guided him out of his room and down the hall, up some stairs, and through another set of doors until they reached a new bathroom, one that was free of any bodily fluids. He took Peter's injured hand and guided it under the faucet, letting the cool water there wash away excess blood, and when that was done he sat the boy down on the closed toilet lid.

Peter was numb as Tony rummaged around in the cabinet under the sink. So much for trying to keep this all from him. He couldn't stop shaking, the ghosts of memories lurking just at the edges of his brain, not explicit, but unshakable. Finding what he needed, Tony knelt down next to Peter a moment later, first aid kit in hand.

"Kid? You still with me?" he asked, looking him right in the eyes, and Peter nodded, not trusting himself to say anything out loud.

"Okay, good, that's good. I'm going to take care of your hand now, alright? It might sting a little, but it'll help you feel better."

On any other day, Peter would have called the man out for talking to him like a baby. Now, he didn't care as Tony gently took his injured hand, uncurling his fingers one by one in order to see the damage.

"You really did a number on these, Pete," he said softly, almost to himself. He pulled out a pack of antiseptic wipes from the first aid kit and broke them open, then methodically started cleaning each and every cut. It did sting. A lot. Tears sprung to Peter's eyes, not entirely because of the pain, and Tony reached out to rub his uninjured arm in a comforting manner.

"It's okay," he reassured, now starting to bandage the boy's hand. "You're gonna be okay."

When he finished, he handed Peter a cup of water—paper, this time. The boy obediently swilled his mouth out, and then Tony guided him out of the bathroom—again, with his hand never leaving Peter's shoulders.

They were in a bedroom—Tony's bedroom, Peter realized. The blankets were all but thrown off the bed as if the man had gotten up in a hurry, and guilt surged through him. But it was to this bed that Peter was guided, and he was sat down on the edge of it, Tony coming to sit next to him.

"You want to tell me what happened?" he probed gently.

"I…I promised I would never kill anyone," Peter began, voice soft and hoarse. "I knew I was strong enough, I knew I could do it so easily and I…that's why I promised I never would."

Tony pulled him into a hug then, and Peter started to sob, tears flooding his cheeks as he choked on big, gasping breaths.

"I k-killed him, Mr. Stark," he wept, "I didn't even think t-twice, _I_ _killed him_ …"

"Shh," Tony murmured, rocking him back and forth ever so slightly, "It's not your fault. You had no other choice."

"I-I know, but it was so _easy_. I could-I could hurt so many other people and it would be _easy_."

Tony held Peter away, then, forcing the boy to look in his eyes. "No Peter, you couldn't. Do you know why? Because you're a _good person_. Helping people is a hell of a lot harder than hurting them, but you've made that choice, and there's no going back from it. You've had your powers for such a short amount of time, and already you've saved hundreds of lives. I know that killing this guy is weighing on you, and that will probably never entirely go away. But you're _alive_. You made sure that he'll never hurt anyone else ever again. Do you understand?"

Peter nodded. Tony pulled him close again.

"And if I had gotten to that bastard first, believe me, I would have killed him where he stood with no hesitation."

They remained like that for a few more minutes, Peter leaning on Tony as his mind and body started to calm down. Eventually, he yawned, and Tony drew away once more.

"You need to sleep," he said.

"I don't…" Peter began.

"You're exhausted, I can tell. C'mon." he stood up and went to retrieve the blankets that had fallen to the floor. Peter's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I can't…this is your bed." Peter stammered. Tony gave him a look.

"Yeah, and you're gonna sleep in it. You'd fall down the stairs before you made it back to your room," he refuted, starting to make up the blankets once more. Peter still didn't move from where he was sitting.

"Look, I'm an early riser anyway. So I'll get some work done, you'll sleep, and I'll be around to wake you if you have any more nightmares. Okay?"

"O-Okay," Peter finally conceded, tentatively shifting himself to the head of the bed. Tony pulled the blankets up over Peter and then came around to the other side of the bed, settling down on top of the covers and pulling out his phone.

Peter's eyes remained open for a few minutes, trying to process everything that had happened in the past hour. Tony looked over at him.

"It's okay, kid. Just sleep."

And Peter did.


	10. Chapter 10

When Peter woke up the next morning, it took him a moment to remember where he was. Sitting with the fact of everything that had happened last night, he thought he should have been embarrassed…but he wasn't. The nightmares had been awful. Worse, in some respects, than the events that instigated them, because they _wouldn't stop happening_. After talking with Tony, though, he had slept soundly through the rest of the night. Maybe the nightmares would be better now—or maybe they wouldn't be, but for those few hours at least, his mind had been at peace. As for the rest, only time would tell.

Dim sunlight peaked in through translucent window shades as Peter threw the covers off and made his way out of bed. The alarm clock on the table beside him read that it was nearly ten o'clock, and Peter was surprised at how late he'd slept. Before leaving, he tried to make the bed as best he could. He couldn't imagine that Tony ever made his own bed, but he knew he would feel weird leaving everything a mess.

Afterward, as he made his way back to his own room, he gingerly unwrapped the bandages on his hand and was relieved to find that the cuts that had been there were all but gone. In fact, it seemed that almost all evidence of his trauma from last night was gone—a quick inspection of the bathroom revealed it to be completely clean, the only hint of something different being the stack of paper cups that stood in the spot where the glass one once was.

Acutely aware of his greasy hair and face stiff with dried tears, he forced himself to take a quick shower. Once done, he then changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt that featured Einstein sticking his tongue out, not quite feeling the levity it implied.

He found Tony in sitting at the counter in the kitchen, a mug of coffee and bowl in front of him and boxes of cereal scattered around. Peter wrinkled his nose at a familiar, burnt smell that lingered in the air, and when Tony noticed him, he smiled and pulled the chair next to him back, gesturing for Peter to sit.

"Morning, Pete. Sleep well? I tried making pancakes, but, well…" As Peter drew up to the proffered seat, he could see past the counter to the charred black masses that might have been an attempt at pancakes sitting in the trash.

"Thank you, Tony," Peter said, reaching for the box of Lucky Charms, and they both knew it was for more than just breakfast.

"So," Tony said after taking a sip of his coffee, "Anything you want to do today?"

"Yeah, actually," Peter began, slightly hesitant. "It's just, my body's basically all healed now, and I've been feeling kind of restless recently, and I was thinking maybe if it was okay I could spend some time in the suit today?"

He barely took a breath as he spat out the request. He wasn't sure why he was nervous about asking Tony about the suit—he hadn't even had it on him when the Incident occurred. But it seemed to be that most of the arguments they ever had always related back to Spider-Man in one way or another, and having avoided the topic for so long, he wasn't sure how Tony would respond.

Luckily, it was with a grin.

"Of course! I've been tinkering with it off and on for the past couple weeks, and I think you're gonna love the upgrades. Got a new parkour course installed in the gym too since you've last been there, it's pretty great. We can head down after, breakfast, if you want."

Peter started scarfing down his cereal in response.

…

Honestly, calling it a gym was a misnomer. The training facility at the Avengers compound was at least ten times bigger than any Planet Fitness that Peter had ever seen, with equipment more comprehensive and expensive than all of the gyms in New York combined. There were of course the standard weight and cardio machines (though specially built to accommodate superhumans with extreme strength and endurance), a boxing ring and other sparring grounds, a yoga studio, gymnastics equipment, agility and parkour courses, a shooting range, and even an experimental virtual reality training center. It had everything that could possibly be needed by Earth's mightiest heroes to hone their skills and abilities, and to Peter, it was one of the coolest places at the compound.

"The new parkour course has taller structures built into it so you can practice more of your web-slinging," Tony rattled off as they entered, Peter's eye immediately drawn to the newest developments, "Let me know what you think, we can always add to or change things."

"This is so cool," Peter responded.

"Of course it is, I made it," Tony scoffed. "Speaking of, about your suit," he said, and pulled out a slim, nondescript red and black bracelet.

"Put it on," Tony encouraged. As soon as Peter did, it automatically formed to his wrist, not tightly, but secure enough so that it couldn't come off. "You press this button twice to release it," he pointed as he explained "but press it once, and…"

As soon as Peter's finger landed on the button, black webs started spreading out from his arm, encasing his entire body and filling in with familiar red and blue detail. In seconds, the suit had formed around his body, mask and all. Peter laughed at the surprise of it.

"Adapted some of my gauntlet technology to make it," Tony explained, pride evident in his voice. "It has built in web shooters too, so you don't have to worry about carrying those separately. I also figured out what kind of acid damaged your last suit and reconfigured this armor to make sure that won't happen again, amongst just general upgrades and reinforcement. It also has new nanotechnology that can self-heal small damages, so you don't have to worry about a few scrapes putting you out of commission. But this way…you don't ever have to be without the suit. Not if you don't want to be."

 _You don't ever have to feel helpless again,_ Peter heard. His heart warmed.

"Thanks."

 _"_ _It's so good to hear you again, Peter,"_ Came Karen's voice suddenly, and he perked up immediately.

"Karen! I missed you too. How's it been, what've you been up to while I was gone?"

 _"_ _Since you last interacted with me, I've been in standby mode while my software was being upgraded."_

"Yeah, me too. Bedrest sucks, right?"

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Tony interrupted, a fond smile curling the edges of his lips, "This five-million dollar facility isn't going to use itself!"

Peter's eyes bugged out. "Five-million? Really? Oh man, I shouldn't even be surprised…" but without another thought, he shot a web at the nearest structure and flung himself into the air.

He'd missed this so much.

Even on a parkour course, free of any real danger, swinging from web to web was exhilarating. The tug on his arms as his webs make contact with their targets, the excitement in his belly as he lets gravity take over his glide, the pang of sheer excitement when he lets go, suspended in space for the briefest of moments.

He bounces from structure to structure, jumping off of walls, doing flips, whooping out loud with pure joy. He glances over once or twice to see Tony still standing where Peter had left him, for once with no phone or tablet in hand, just watching Peter's antics with a genuine smile on his face. It's nice.

He loses track of time completely, content to stretch his muscles and show off until Karen interrupts him with a warning that his web fluid is about to run out. It must have been a while, then—that stuff doesn't run out quickly. He makes his way to the ground, and after taking a moment to catch his breath makes his way over to Tony, who has since made his way to a bench nearby.

"Do you have more web fluid?"

"You're not done yet? I feel exhausted just looking at you," the billionare joked. But he jerked his chin off to the left, "There should be some in that storage closet next to the free weights, I think. You can take a look if you want."

Peter nodded and jogged to the other side of the room, dodging between cardio equipment and dumbbells until he found the door that had to be the aforementioned closet. Without a thought, he jerked it open.

He froze.

Immediately inside was a pile of equipment, haphazardly stacked on the ground and covered in a fine layer of dust, as if they had been quickly thrown in there and left to be forgotten. A quiver with training arrows. Spare widow's bites. An old model of Redwing. Endless Avengers equipment, hidden away in a dark closet. And on top of it all, a shield that was unmistakable.

"Hey kid, did you find it? What's taking you so…oh," Tony cut off as he appeared behind Peter. He swallowed hard. "I forgot that was there."

Peter's mind jumped to the last time they talked about the Avengers how badly that had ended, and panic coursed through his body as he quickly made to shut the door, "I'm sorry, I…"

Tony's hand landed on his wrist, pausing his movements, "Don't be," he released Peter's arm and took a step back in what could only be an attempt to appear nonthreatening. "I uh, I was gonna wait, but I guess this is as good a time as any…"

"For what?"

Tony took a deep breath. "After you got kidnapped, I did a lot of thinking. A lot of introspection—which you know isn't a strong suit of mine, but everything happened so fast and I had a lot of _feelings_ and…anyway. It took a lot of time, and money, and pulling connections, but I've managed to secure pardons for the rest of the Avengers. It'll be publicly announced next week."

"What?" Peter asked, eyes wide with shock. This was the last thing he had been expecting.

"Yeah," Tony ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tic. "They've been released from the Raft already—I never liked that part anyway. But also, I'm going to be meeting with them and a few other key figures soon to amend the Accords into something we can all agree on. Because you were right. There's a better way, and we need to work together to find it. And I knew that, deep down, but everything was happening so fast, and I didn't really think—"

"You don't need to explain yourself," Peter interrupted carefully. He'd done enough of that already. "Just…I'm glad. That you're going to work things out. Really glad."

Tony let out a deep breath. "I made a promise, when you…well. I promised I was going to fix things. To make things right. And this is part of that, even though it's not just for you, really, but I…I'm trying."

"I know," Peter said, and in a completely impulsive decision, he rushed forward and wrapped Tony in a hug. The man was stiff at first in surprise, but quickly relaxed, arms tightening around the teenager's shoulders.

"How about some lunch, huh?" he asked, finally breaking away. Peter's face broke out into a hopeful look.

"Pizza?"

Tony grinned, "You got it."


	11. Chapter 11

Peter rocketed awake, gasping for breath. Sweat clung to his body, soaking his pajamas and leaving him feeling cold and clammy all over. He sat up against his pillows, desperately willing his heart rate to slow while feeling like it was going to pound out of his chest. He'd had another nightmare. Again.

Peter slammed his fist into the mattress, anger suddenly overtaking him. They. Weren't. Stopping. His heart-to-heart with Tony had been encouraging, at the time, and for couple of nights, the nightmares weren't as bad. He thought that maybe, just maybe, they would go away.

They didn't.

He couldn't even remember this one, all details of it vanishing the instant he woke up, but the fear and anxiety it left behind sat low and heavy in his chest. The details didn't really matter, anyway. He knew what it must have been about. They were all the same.

The clock deemed it was a reasonable enough time in the morning to wake up, so Peter got out of bed and quickly shucked his damp pajamas into the laundry, grabbing a new set of clothes on his way to the bathroom. When he once again saw his scars in the shower, he scrubbed at them until his skin bled, fueled by his anger. It didn't matter. He was healed by the time he was dressed.

Because nothing was changing. Not really. Every day, no matter how many good things happened, he was still left in the same place he'd been before. Still a fragile, broken kid who flinched at too sudden movements and who couldn't get through the night without crying.

He didn't tell Tony. Not the details, anyway. But it was almost as if the man could sense whenever Peter was having a bad day, the worry in his face deepening every time Peter felt especially stressed. It made Peter feel guilty—Tony wasn't used to taking care of another person, and it was exhausting him, Peter could tell—so on the occasion that Tony would ask how he was doing, he'd get a simple, unelaborated "fine" in response, or something similar. He didn't want to make things harder on the man than they already were.

"So," he began as Peter poured milk into his bowl that morning at breakfast after deflecting another check on his well-being. "I just wanted to warn you, Rhodey's stopping by today. He comes up here once a week for physical therapy, usually sticks around after for drinks or a movie or something…but if you don't want him here just say the word and he'll totally be okay with just going home after his appointment..."

"No, he can stay," Peter quickly supplied. Tony deserved to spend time with his friend. It's not like his time belonged exclusively to Peter, or anything. And besides, he had been seeing the same half-dozen faces for a long time now—it might be nice to see a new one.

"Good. He's asked about you, actually. Wondered how you were doing. I didn't actually tell him anything outright, but it wasn't too difficult to figure out something was up when he noticed I was glued to your bedside for like a solid week. He'll be happy to see you," there was nothing but sincerity and fondness in his words as he took a sip of his coffee. The subject hadn't come up much, but Peter had noticed that Tony always seemed to sound like that when he talked about Colonel Rhodes. He recognized it as the same way he sounded when talking about Ned.

He was glad Tony had a friend like that in his life.

…

When FRIDAY announced Colonel Rhodes's arrival to the complex a couple of hours later, Peter and Tony were in the middle of an intense round of Uno, the stress of that morning as forgotten as it could be.

"Tell him he's welcome to join us in the living room after his appointment!" Tony called, immediately groaning as Peter set down a draw four card.

About ninety minutes later, the doors to the living quarters opened to reveal Colonel Rhodes himself.

Of course, Tony mentioned his friend from time to time, and Peter had read the news articles and medical journals about the leg braces Tony had designed for him (and how they were going to dramatically improve the quality of life for people suffering from limb injuries and paralysis worldwide), but he realized he hadn't actually seen the man in person since the battle in Germany.

He looked good, all things considered. The braces were sleek, black, and relatively inconspicuous, especially when paired with the black track pants Rhodes was already wearing. There was a slight ruddiness to his cheeks, as if he had recently exerted himself, but a warm smile lit up his face as Tony stood up and made his way across the room to embrace him.

"Rhodey!" he greeted, "How was PT?"

"It was a party," Rhodey answered, humor in his voice.

"Damn, and I thought I was paying them to go tough on you," Tony teased. "But go ahead and sit down. You want anything to drink?"

"Water would be great," he said, making his way to the couch to sit down next to Peter. The card games had been set aside for the time being after a triumphant victory by Peter, and at the moment they just had Netflix queued up on the TV, one episode of _The Office_ rolling into the next in what had become a marathon. Tony came back moments later with three glasses of water, handing one each to Peter and Rhodey. He had only just raised the third glass to his own lips when suddenly his phone rang, interrupting his movements and eliciting a curse when he saw the caller ID.

"Gotta take this. I'll be back in a few," he promised as he quickly set his glass down and left the room.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was Jim Halpert describing his newest prank on Dwight to the camera. Rhodey's eyes flickered over to the TV and he snorted out a laugh between sips of water, then finally turned to Peter. "Glad to see you're doing well, Peter."

"Thanks! Yeah, uh, you too…"

"It's okay, you can look. It's not gonna hurt me." He said, calling out Peter's attempt to very pointedly _not_ stare at his leg braces, despite how much he wanted to.

"Sorry! It's just, I've read all the articles about their engineering, and they're just _so cool…_ "

Rhodey grinned, "Yeah, now I know why Tony keeps you around," he shifted on the couch to allow Peter better access to examine the devices, and when he next spoke, his voice was light and casual.

"Doctors say I might never be able to walk without them again."

Peter immediately drew away, "I'm so sorry."

Rhodey leaned back against the couch. "I'm not. Being sorry doesn't make anything better."

And that…that was true. In the time since he'd woken up safe and sound in the Avengers compound, Peter had been apologized to a lot—by his aunt, by Happy, by Tony. But whenever they told him they were sorry, he realized, no matter how much they actually meant it, it wasn't really for him. He would forgive them, and in turn _they_ would feel better—and they should! Peter didn't want any of them to feel guilty about what happened to him. But the truth of the matter was, saying sorry didn't change anything. It didn't stop what happened, it didn't heal his injuries, it didn't stop his panic attacks or nightmares. As much as he wished it did. But that left one question.

"…then what does?" Peter asked quietly.

"My physical therapy, for one. Listening to the doctors, understanding when to push myself and when to take it easy. Having a support system, and actually allowing them to support me when I need it. And ice cream," he finished with a smile.

"Yeah…that makes sense," Peter said, starting to become lost in thought.

"Hey," Rhodey set a gentle hand on his knee. "All this stuff—this trauma? It doesn't define us. It's how we live our lives after that matters."

Peter didn't even get a chance to think of a response to that when suddenly Tony came back into the room, phone tucked away in his pocket once again.

"Sorry about that. Now where were we?"

"I actually should get a start on some of my homework, I'll catch you guys later," Peter said, standing up abruptly from the couch.

"You sure? You're welcome to stick around, you can even do it here if you want." Tony said, a small frown appearing on his face.

"Thanks, but I'd probably just get distracted. It was nice seeing you, Colonel Rhodes, thanks for the talk," he responded, already starting to back out of the room.

"Nice to see you too, Peter. And if you ever need someone to talk to that isn't Tony Stark, I'm always available, okay?"

Peter nodded, "Thanks."

He made a detour to his room to grab his homework before making his way to a study he had found on one of his many adventures through the compound over the last week. He hadn't been lying to Tony, he really did have a lot to do for all of the time he'd missed at school, and he probably would be too distracted if he tried to stay in the living room to do it. But honestly, that wasn't his primary motivation…

Tony deserved a break. An evening to spend time with his best friend, watch movies, have drinks, or whatever they wanted to do to let loose and have fun. Without Peter.

He'd never ask for it, Peter knew. Which was why he was giving it to him.

He settled himself at the table in the center of the room and cracked open his math book, pulled out some loose leaf, and got to work. He had actually started missing a lot of things about school—his friends, decathlon, even some of his teachers—but homework was certainly not one of them. He didn't pay attention to how much time was passing, instead measuring his progress by the growth of his pile of completed assignments, but by the time he finally stood up from the table, the dim evening sun that filtered through the window had completely transitioned to the dark of night. He wouldn't have gotten up at all, if he hadn't finally started on a research paper that required the use of a non-web source. Great.

Luckily, Peter thought as he looked at the bookshelves that lined the room, he was in a multi-million-dollar compound that had a veritable library of non-web sources to browse through. The Revolutionary War didn't stand a chance.

It took a few minutes and a well-placed question to FRIDAY to figure out the organizational system of the shelves, but once he did, finding the American history section was a piece of cake. Lo and behold, he quickly spotted what looked like the perfect book for his paper.

On the top shelf.

Peter groaned at the inconvenience. These shelves had to be at least fifteen feet high, and there wasn't a ladder around—whether because it would disturb the aesthetic of the room, or whether because Tony never actually expected anyone to _read_ these books, Peter couldn't be sure—but no big deal. He was Spider-Man. He was sticky. He could climb the shelf and grab it, easy as pie.

Damn, that was two different dessert metaphors in five minutes. Peter's stomach grumbled. He really should get something sweet to treat himself with after this.

Focus, Peter. First, the book. With a single jump, he hoisted himself halfway up the stack, planting his feet on the lower shelves. He was pretty sure he saw some leftover tiramisu in the fridge earlier. Or Tony always had ice cream, maybe he could go for that! There _had_ to be some mint chip left, oooh that sounded good…

He was so absorbed in his sugary thoughts that he didn't even feel his spider-sense prickling up at first. Didn't hear the groans of the bookshelf as he climbed, didn't feel it start to tip forward…

Until it was too late.

He didn't have his web shooters. Didn't have the bracelet that he had taken off before a shower and hadn't yet formed the habit of always keeping on. He didn't even have stable footing. In the split second before it all went to hell, the only thing Peter could think was _there's nothing I can do_.

And then he was free-falling through the air on his back, a horrific rainbow filling his vision as hundreds of books filled his vision with their multi-colored spines, the solid oak shelf following close behind. He didn't even have the chance to shout for help before his back collided with the ground, knocking the wind out of him. And then came the pain.

Pain, as he was struck with hardcovers and paperbacks and plaster bookends. Pain, as the shelf crushed his body, trapping him beneath its weight, blocking out all light in the room.

He knew what was coming next, a split second before it happened.

 _Concrete. Metal. Rebar. Crushing, suffocating, he couldn't breathe, he was breathing too fast, gasping, this was it, he was going to die here…_

 _"_ _If you're nothing without the suit, you shouldn't have it."_

 _He was so stupid, he should have never come here alone, alone, he was so alone, no one knew he was here and he would die alone…_

"Peter!"

 _"_ _HELP! I'm down here, I'm stuck…I'm stuck I can't move…!"_

"Help me get this goddamn thing off him! Peter!"

 _Oh god, it hurt so bad, his chest was burning, his whole body was frozen and on fire all at once…_

"Peter! C'mon kid, breathe with me, you can do it…"

 _And suddenly there was a hand on his back and…no…that wasn't right…_

"In…out…there you go, it's okay, you're okay…"

 _Tony was here. No, he couldn't be, Peter was alone…_

"No, no Pete, I'm here, come back to me, please…"

"You weren't," Peter said, awareness coming back to him all at once. Sensations registered in his brain in rapid-fire sequence: the bright lights of the study, the harsh, panicked sound of breathing, the throbbing of fresh bruises, the salty taste of tears on his tongue. Tony was propping him upright, both of them still on the floor, and was using one hand to rub soothing circles onto his back. The bookshelf lay feet away from them, having been lifted off of Peter, but books still covered almost every inch of the carpet.

"It's okay, Peter…"

"No, it isn't," Peter croaked out, fresh tears falling from his eyes, "You weren't there, and he…he collapsed a building on me, I-I tried to scream for help but I was all alone a-and…I had to lift it all and _it hurt so much_ …"

"What?" Tony asked, thoroughly concerned and confused.

"Th-the Vulture…"

He'd never seen a man turn ghostly white so fast.

"I…I took your suit."

Peter nodded.

The man's eyes shut tightly. It looked like he'd received a punch straight to the gut. He held Peter even closer, took a few deep breaths of his own before speaking again.

"I never should have done that. It was wrong, I was wrong, and I…I'm so sorry."

Peter said nothing in response, body continuing to tremble. This was not about Tony. This was for him.

Suddenly, Rhodey appeared in Peter's field of vision, multiple blue packets cradled in his arms. "I found the ice," he announced.

Gently, Tony lifted Peter in his arms and carried him across the room to the chaise that rested against the wall, laying him down and propping a pillow under his head. Rhodey came over as well, piling the packets at Peter's feet. He started cracking them open one by one, handing them to Tony as they cooled to situate across Peter's already bruising body. Even though his healing factor would kick in sooner rather than later, the relief was welcome.

Not much later, Rhodey left, but only after confirming that both of them would be okay and making FRIDAY promise to call him if they needed anything. FRIDAY had long since dimmed the lights, and Tony continuously rotated the ice packs and sat at the floor at Peter's head while Peter himself pretended to be asleep. But who was he kidding—he wouldn't be sleeping that night.

It was quiet for a long time. But finally, Peter couldn't take it anymore.

"I was so _scared_."

Tony reached up and took Peter's hand, squeezing it between his own. "I know."

"I haven't stopped being scared since."

Tony looked up, held the boy's gaze. "Whatever I can do for you, whatever you need…I'm here for you. I swear. Okay?"

"I…" Peter thought back on everything that happened to him over the past year, at everything he'd never told Tony, of all the things he had wanted to say. Thought back to Rhodey's advice. "Can we just…talk?"

"For as long as you need," Tony reassured.

They wouldn't stop until morning broke.


	12. Epilogue

"But anyway, so my mom happened to be the fifth caller to the radio station, and she won a trip to Legoland. _Legoland!_ "

"Oh my god, Ned, that's amazing!" Peter said enthusiastically as he Ned, and MJ dodged through the crowded hallway toward the front entrance of the school.

"I know, right? Like, who knew the radio was still good for something? It's gonna be during spring break, and she won four tickets, so you're totally invited!"

The two boys made a noise that was definitely _not_ a squeal at the thought of a trip to Legoland, and MJ snorted out a laugh, "Nerds."

Ned flashed her a smile, "Don't worry, MJ, we'll be sure to bring you back a mini-figure keychain of Wonder Woman."

She didn't bother to grace that comment with a response, but Peter noticed the corner of her lip quirk ever so slightly in a smile.

"Also as part of the prize, they sent us a kit of the Kessel run Millennium Falcon, you _need_ to come over and build it with me!" Ned begged.

"I'm sorry, Ned, I can't, remember?"

"Oh, right. I forgot."

"I'm free on Wednesday, though!" Peter suggested, and Ned stuck out his finger for a pinky promise. Peter wrapped his pinky around Ned's solemnly.

"There. Now you can't get out of it."

They finally emerged through the front doors, eyes immediately squinting at the abundance of bright sunlight outside. With a quick goodbye, Ned ran for the bus, determined to get his preferred seat, while Peter and MJ hung back on the steps of the school, shifting to the side so they wouldn't get trampled by the other students desperate to leave for the day. Peter was looking out toward the parking lot, scanning for the car that was supposed to pick him up, when he suddenly felt MJ's hand slip into his.

"I'm really proud of you, you know," she said quietly. When he turned to look at her, she had her eyes trained on the parking lot too. He squeezed her hand tighter in response.

"Thanks. I…I'm kind of nervous, to be honest."

"That's normal. But you'll be okay."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're Peter Parker," she said simply.

Suddenly a car horn interrupted their moment, and Peter looked out once more to see Happy in the parking lot, window rolled down and impatient gaze directed pointedly at Peter.

"I gotta go," Peter said, and MJ released his hand only to surprise him with a quick peck on the cheek before he could flee. He froze for a second and she smirked.

"See you, loser."

His feet took that as their cue to finally start moving, and he made his way to the car, cheeks flushing red at the smug little smile he saw on Happy's face.

"Good day?" Happy asked.

"Shut up," Peter snapped, lacking any and all venom. He opened the door to the back seat and slid in next to Tony, who was currently completely distracted by his phone. Peter wasn't sure if it was genuine or if he was just pretending to save Peter even more embarrassment, but either way, he was grateful. He only looked up once Peter had clicked his seatbelt into place and the car was pulling out of Midtown.

"Hey, kid. How was school?"

"It was fine. I just found out Ned's mom won a trip to Legoland and—oh! I have something for you," he pulled his backpack up from the floor of the car and started to rifle around in it, pushing past textbooks and crumpled homework assignments until he found what he was looking for. He whipped out the powder-blue envelope and offered it to Tony, who only eyed it for a moment before accepting it and tearing it open.

A gold card with a graduation cap and the words, "You're invited!" sat inside, and upon seeing it, Tony shot Peter a confused look.

"Don't you have, like, at least another year?"

"Yeah," Peter said impatiently, "Just open it."

He did, confusion clearing in an instant once he read what was inside.

"It's just a small little ceremony," Peter said, "With like, fifteen other CNAs and cake and punch and stuff, but May's worked so hard, and she really wanted you to be there..."

"Then I'm there," Tony said immediately, and Peter beamed.

"You're invited too, Happy!"

"Hey, I'm always up for free cake," he responded as he pulled up in front of a new building and brought the car to a stop. "We're here."

Peter and Tony got out of the car and entered the tall building, passing by the front desk to the elevator and making their way up several floors before finding themselves in front of another door that led to an office. Peter hesitated as Tony approached it, and the man picked up on it immediately.

"You okay?"

Peter swallowed hard, shook his head to try to clear out his nerves, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, let's do it."

"Remember, if you don't like it, you can leave immediately," he assured, "It's totally normal to have to try a few different places out before finding one that works for you, no one's gonna take any offense. Alright?"

Peter nodded. Tony slung an arm around his shoulders and squeezed in a comforting manner.

"Ready?"

Peter took a deep breath. "Yeah."

With that, Tony opened the door, and they stepped inside of a small waiting room consisting of a few chairs, a coffee table full of magazines, and a lone receptionist behind a desk. He perked up when they entered.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Stark!"

"Hey, Ted," Tony responded, a genuine friendliness in his tone that Peter knew was never used on members of the general public. He relaxed ever so slightly as the man turned his gaze toward him.

"And are you Peter Parker?"

"Yup, that's me," Peter responded, not quite up to his usual level of confidence.

The man smiled kindly, "Melissa's ready for you whenever you are. Just right through that door," he pointed to the doorway just to his left. Peter walked right up to it, but couldn't help but look back at Tony one last time.

It had taken a while for them to reach this point. Days of discussing all of his anxieties, fears, insecurities. Tony listened dutifully through it all, acting as a pillar of support that Peter would never have imagined him capable of when they first met. But when he'd said he was there for Peter, he had meant it. He had always meant it, Peter realized. Through all of his injuries, drunken phone calls, relationship troubles, nightmares. From the first time he'd handed Peter the suit, Tony Stark had been there for him.

Eventually, they decided that wasn't enough, that it was okay that wasn't enough, that Peter deserved to get the help he needed. Tony explained that therapy had helped him through a lot. Peter thought about it for a long time. And then they came here.

"You got this, Pete," Tony said, so confident and reassured and _proud_.

With a deep breath, Peter opened the door.


End file.
